


After Words

by Darwin



Series: Hunter x Hunter Collection [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, My First Fanfic, Timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-12 05:03:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4466414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darwin/pseuds/Darwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alluka notices big brother has been stuck in a rut for some time now.  In the midst of a particularly bad spell, Alluka decides to help big brother.  She never expected what her help would lead to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thoughts of a Concerned Sister

It was a common enough occurrence. Certainly nothing of note in the beginning. Big brother just needed some time alone, to think. Big brother likes to think. A lot. Sometimes, when big brother thinks really hard, his eyebrows furrow and he bites his bottom lip. That is when they know not to interrupt.

Things rarely stay simple with big brother. At the start, he just needed a couple of hours every few weeks. Time alone for the hardest kind of thinking. Palm would watch over them in the meantime. They like Palm. Something likes Palm the most, though. Alluka attributes that to Palm teaching them how to braid hair. It makes Something feel more like a girl.

Well, not _like_. Big brother hates when she phrases it that way. Big brother makes it a point to say he loves his _sisters_. They appreciate the gesture.

Big brother was the one to enlist the help of Palm, both for “girl training” and for security reasons. He wants Alluka and Something to experience what they had been denied in childhood: a friend of the same gender. For a long time, Palm’s primary objective was to give Alluka and Something instruction in the intricacies of femininity. Big brother considers this task an undertaking of the utmost importance for his sisters.

That did not stop Alluka from requesting more conventional forms of training. Herbalism, magical beast studies, first aid, and martial artistry were eventually added to her repertoire. Big brother had been hesitant on the last one. He insisted that Alluka should never have to fight, ever. Alluka knows that he will eventually acquiesce.

She felt guilty, at first. Big brother means well. The problem is that his idealistic hopes for the future are impossible to fulfill. Even with Illumi neutralized, their little band spends a great deal of time in the wilderness. What if she runs into aggressive wildlife? All she requires is some rhetoric and sound reasoning, coupled with a slight pout, to win big brother over. She is a smart girl.

Big brother and Palm tout her intelligence incessantly. They are constantly surprised by how easily she soaks up information. She once made a lighthearted joke that cold intellect and perceptiveness runs in the family. Big brother spent a long time thinking about that.

When did the thinking turn to brooding? The shift was a subtle one. Instead of leaving _home_ , which is what big brother insists they refer to their temporary places of residence as, he would stow away in an empty room or an alternate branch in the network of caves they claimed for the night. Alluka had initially figured the shift meant a possible danger to the group was afoot. She was somewhat excited. The only time she had witnessed a fight firsthand had been when big brother fought Illumi. Something was very scared for big brother; so was Alluka, to an extent. However, there was an exhilarating element about watching the two monoliths of power engage in mortal combat. The Nen micropyles in her eyes were open thanks to Something’s powers, and Alluka was thankful for this.

Alluka now knows enough about strategy and tactics to discern that there currently exists no threat to the group. Big brother and Palm no longer conceal their presence with Zetsu and the night watch rotation is less emphasized in the weekly allocation of various chores and tasks. Yet big brother still sulks. Why?

The worst of it happens just before Reunion. Alluka took to calling the event such, as a way to mark when big brother freed her and Something from the Zoldyck estate on Kukuroo Mountain. Big brother grows distant just before the occasion. Alluka, not adequately trained in the fundamentals of Nen, is capable of sensing the changes in his aura. Palm is often uneasy around this time. Once, Alluka discovered Palm comforting big brother. The sight is a rare one, as Palm actively attempts to steer Alluka clear of big brother when he falls to bouts of depression.

Alluka and Something initially worried that big brother was upset with them. Something was terrified of the prospect. Big brother seemed to pick up on this, or, more likely, Palm gave warning that he was not hiding his emotions very well and that it was impacting his beloved sisters. The first Reunion turned out splendidly.

In the case of the second Reunion, less so. Big brother was visibly worn. The shift began around this time. Longer periods of time spent alone, feigned expressions of happiness, and body language that screamed restlessness. All of this in the wake of Illumi’s defeat, their greatest threat removed. Palm tries hard to divert Alluka’s attention from big brother, to help hide whatever is wrong. This only piques her interest further.

Alluka has maintained a watchful eye on big brother, ever wary of new developments. The third Reunion is fast approaching and big brother returns from the farmers' market with hardly hidden tear stains on his sleeves and swollen, bloodshot eyes.

This has been bothering big brother for three years. They will help.


	2. A Good Plan

Her thoughts are scattered to the wind once more, blowing away in a barrage of disjointed fragments. Alluka rolls over in bed, letting the fragrance of her comforter calm her jumbled nerves. Lavender. Big brother delved deep into his coffers, renting an apartment for the night. Quieter than some random grotto, and decidedly more comfortable. Plans develop alongside her mounting desire to help big brother, to help. Alluka is resolved to help. They will help.

“Killua sad. I sad. I love Killua. Let me help?”

Alluka sighs dramatically. Sometimes, when she begins thinking, much in the same vein as big brother, Something catches wind. Something is sweet and kind and pure, a child. However, as a child, she is far too innocent. Her way of communication is still unrefined. Alluka will need to broach the subject of big brother’s pervasive sadness alone, with the subtle touch of a Zoldyck.

“Something,” she hesitates, thinking her request through carefully, “can you conceal my presence using Zetsu? This is important. I need to help big brother.” There is a pause followed by a tiny whimper. Something is worried.

“Killua not okay? Killua hurt?”

“No, big brother is not hurt. I just need to talk to big brother, and the only way I could possibly accomplish that is if you perfectly conceal my presence,” Alluka thinks before continuing, “in exchange for the usual request.”

Something’s presence in the back of Alluka’s mind begins to glow. “Yes! Like when Killua pats.”

That settles one problem. Alluka feels the viscous texture envelop her body, her aura signature perfectly concealed thanks to Something. Big brother, who sits in the dark during his sessions, will neither see nor sense her approaching. Now, the next step, which is absolutely critical.

Palm Siberia is very strong, physically and mentally. Her identity surviving the metamorphosis to Chimera Ant speaks volumes of her will. Palm’s physical robustness is a deception in itself; her strongest power lies in her clairvoyance. Wink Blue, an ability Alluka can only help but marvel at, now impedes her progress. An emotionally charged altercation between siblings will have Palm in a frenzy. Fortunately, the merry band of misfits is staying the night in a small agrarian village outside of the Kakin capital city. A town means people. A five minute walk to the local pub, a convincing lie, and the location of one Palm Siberia is all Alluka needs.

Alluka notes that, at this hour, Palm is likely hunting in the surrounding woods. Hunting and gathering is an integral part of their daily routine, as physical money is scarce, and big brother rarely accepts Hunter contracts so as to better hide their whereabouts. Big brother’s Hunter license, which can also function as a credit card, is seldom used for that very reason. Tonight's lodging is a rare exception. Even though well over a year has passed since Illumi was dealt with, big brother is still reluctant to make a reappearance. She has a hard time understanding why.

***

Alluka leads her charges into the woods, three drunken men chattering giddily about seeing an actual Lady of the Sea, having been previously convinced that the tales were baseless legends, that a magical beast matching the description of the popular Yorbian myth has yet to be discovered. The thought occurs to Alluka that she is not exactly lying, as Palm is the closest relative to the creature in all of her studies. She throws a cursory glance over her shoulder, checking that the men are still following obediently. They will serve their purpose well. Once Palm sees them with her right eye, Killua, Alluka, and Something will effectively be off the radar, free of Wink Blue’s clairvoyant properties.

A foolish thought, she reprimanded herself in retrospect. Nothing ever goes according to plan. The three men see Palm and fall head over heels. This was expected. Palm turns around, gauging the situation with an air of caution befitting a professional Hunter. This was expected. The aberration occurs when Alluka notices both hands hanging limply at her sides and the slight glimmer of a bedazzled and embroidered piece of cloth. A gift given in good graces now thwarting her plans. The intent behind the eyepatch had been to allow Palm to blend in with regular human society, albeit given she covers her scales and conceals the orb resting upon her brow. The eyepatch is meant to be worn in public situations, where covering your right eye to comply with the conditions of a Nen ability could possibly be construed as a tad odd.

Alluka, thinking with haste, employs a rough version of Silent Gaits to flank around as Palm attempts to subdue the men so as to avoid a village-wide magical beast hunt. Alluka’s footfalls are heavy and her movement is hardly comparable to big brother’s, but it will get the job done. Appearing out of the treeline behind Palm, Alluka gracefully severs the strand holding the eyepatch taut against the older woman’s face. Palm notices moments later that the eyepatch has gone slack, and it falls slowly from her face. Palm grabs the accessory as quickly as she can, eyes then focusing on the frayed fabric, evidence that someone is responsible for this odd occurrence. Palm sweeps the area in an attempt to find the perpetrator, but she can only sense the aura of the three inebriated men. She is too late, in more than one respect. Palm’s hand moves to her right eye and her aura spikes in conjunction with the active use of Wink Blue, but she is greeted by the sight of the three belligerents that stumbled upon her hunting grounds.

Alluka is ecstatic. As trivial as the confrontation may have been, she successfully outsmarted a bonafide Hunter. The notion holds many implications. Her thoughts wander to stories big brother no longer tells; of places such as Heaven’s Arena and Greed Island. Is she strong enough to take on those challenges now, to see parts of the world limited to Hunters and their peers?

Alluka silences such thoughts, instead focusing on the task at hand. Palm will likely deposit the men in town, meaning she has precious little time to return home. The next phase is as crucial as the previous one.

***

Palm enters the rented living space with the faint creak of the front door. She sprinted as fast as she could while burdened by the weight of three grown men, first leaving the drunkards dazed and confused outside the doors of the nearest pub before returning home. Relative safety, when compared to the Kakin wilds and the exotic fauna of Azia. Black locks flow in billowing curtains of darkness as careful eyes check over each room, taking note of the surroundings and being sure to lock all entrances. She eventually stumbles upon Killua’s room. She considers entering and providing the reason that Wink Blue had been interrupted as justification for the moody teen, but decided against it. Killua is best left alone this time of year. Her priority is Alluka and Something.

Palm slowly twists the knob to the girls’ room, taking great care to avoid rousing them. Alluka is sleeping comfortably, curled up in a ball. The corners of Palm’s lips curl delicately upward. Alluka’s aura is imperceptible, but Palm attributes this to the girl sleeping. Sleeping so soundly. The change is a welcome one. Alluka is typically wracked with worry for Killua around this time of year, and her sleep suffers for it. She will protect Alluka’s newfound contentedness. She will protect Alluka.

Said train of thought sends Palm on her way. Active use of Wink Blue is potentially hazardous. She may need both arms, should she discover an enemy. Palm will need to rely on her normal extrasensory perception, though focused solely on Alluka. That should suffice. She will spend the night scouting, to make sure no one is targeting them. Once she is done, she will sit on the porch and maintain En in a radius of one-hundred meters.

***

“Play?” This time, Something’s voice is spoken aloud, not behind the veil of consciousness.

Alluka giggles before saying, “No, I just needed you to come out for a moment. Sorry, Something.” Something looks somewhat hurt, but then Alluka adds, “You will get to see big brother soon!” Something lights up at this, the anticipation of seeing big brother evident.

“‘Kay. Go sleep now.”

Alluka takes a moment to mull over everything once she regains control. Palm likely disengaged Wink Blue on the three men, meaning that her only image is of Something. Since Something is asleep now, Palm is completely blind and without emotional indicators. Alluka tenses. While Palm being unawares was the goal all along, Palm will return home immediately should she see nothing while using Wink Blue. Her only comfort is that Palm is too cautious to dedicate one hand to Wink Blue when a threat is potentially lurking around every corner. Alluka is not sure how long that affords her to confront big brother. She needs to move now.

She opens the door to her room slowly, the scent of lavender mingling with the earthy aroma of the apartment before fading altogether. Big brother loves the smell of the wilderness, of nature. The smell played no small part in big brother's decision to rent this specific apartment, she is certain. Alluka shuffles into the hallway quietly, utilizing her less developed version of the Silent Gaits technique she learned from observing big brother train. Seconds later, her hand cups the knob to big brother’s room timidly, as if he is some new magical beast waiting to be documented. She steels herself before gently bidding the door open.

She crosses the threshold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you don't mind my interpretation of Palm's ability. Considering Wink Blue is of the Enhancement category, the assumption is that she already possesses some degree of ESP. Thus, I split Wink Blue into two parts: the first, the established way it works as an active form; the second, a passive form that allows her to sense extremes in emotion. I figured this would help Palm work as a personal bodyguard to Alluka, training herself to react to fear, anxiety, etc. A liberal interpretation, but it made for a more interesting chapter, hopefully.
> 
> Also, let me know what you think of the story. I just finished writing the rough draft of chapter seven. I'll probably post up to that point within the week. I would finish this within that time, but my work schedule is pretty hectic. I apologize to anyone who actually cares about this, while simultaneously cherishing that response. It is certainly motivating, especially considering this is my first attempt at fanfiction. I am still a little nervous.
> 
> I digress. Thank you for reading!


	3. Tell Me the Truth

Killua would have been proud under different circumstances. It requires noteworthy intelligence to outwit a professional Hunter the likes of Palm Siberia. It requires remarkable skill to effectively employ Silent Gaits against a master assassin. It requires incredible resolve to confront him in his current state, never mind the audacity to take the stool from the old wooden desk nestled in the corner of his room and sit down directly in front of him. To be fourteen and so bold.

This confrontation was inevitable. Alluka is far too curious for her own good. He inwardly scoffs, thoughts returning to one of the many matters that preoccupy his mind when he sits alone to think. To think. What a joke.

Thinking is a tool, simply put. Like any tool, its worth is determined by the results it achieves. A hammer finds worth in raising a building or as an implement of violence. Likewise, thoughts can be constructive or destructive. Proactive or reactive. What he is doing is not thinking. There will be no action, no change in mood or behavior for Killua. Killua is not thinking; Killua is lamenting.

The natural response of any human is to defend time already spent, already wasted. What he is doing started out as simple thinking, that much is certain. His coping mechanism is to internalize his feelings, to dwell on them. After everything that transpired, afterwards. After words. Hardly coherent apologetic speeches possessing the emotional depth of a puddle. Tears, though not his own. Adding another drop to the bucket, mixing into a maelstrom of emotions he would rather stay locked away indefinitely.

He will wait for Alluka to speak, to ease his thoughts, to assuage the feeling presently causing him turmoil. That he is no better than Illumi, that he has not tricked her into a larger playroom, that he definitively knows what is best for her, that--

“Big brother.”

“Alluka.” Only fight when victory is guaranteed.

A deep breath. “Tell me what is wrong, big brother.” A request? Alluka is too merciful to pull such an underhanded trick. An inquiry from the thoughts of a concerned sister. Nothing is wrong. Killua is happy and Alluka and Something are safe. That is all that matters.

“Everything is as good as it can be.” Killua told his half-truth convincingly, expertly contorting his face into a grin for good measure. A salty taste enters his mouth. He assumed the tears had dried. Alluka should never have to worry for his welfare. He is the provider, the protector, and she is the child. He was a child, once, for a little while. That Killua died three years ago.

***

Something did not stir after big brother fulfilled her request. Big brother is distraught, but he truly believes that how he is feeling is a result of the best possible scenario. This is not right. Big brother should not have to feel so downtrodden. Big brother is forcing her hand.

***

“Tell me why you are crying.” Shocked, Killua glances upward. He had not expected Alluka to continue with the requests. Their eyes meet and he sees a familiar burning determination. Cerulean eyes. Not the same.

“Alluka, please,” his voice croaks, betraying his composed figure, “do not push this.” A plea for mercy as well as a strike against him. Only two more chances. He could run, but to do so would remove all doubt. He could not return to Alluka. Killua acknowledges that he will be forced to respond should she continue, unless he manages to meet three requests. Uncharacteristically optimistic, he chides himself.

“Tell me what you are thinking about.” She has made a misstep, Killua notes. He thinks of many things, though not in equal frequency. A vague question can be met with a vague response. An opportunity to put distance between Alluka and the problem.

“Of our relatives,” not family. Palm, Leorio, and Kurapika are family in everything but blood, though the lines have been blurred there. Killua can vividly recall when Palm insisted Leorio take as much blood as necessary for a transfusion after a particularly gruesome encounter with one of Illumi’s Needlemen, a fortunate coincidence that Leorio was on Zodiac business in Yorknew in preparation for some sort of expedition to uncharted lands. Yet a family is nothing without a home, a shelter in which they can all find common ground, to bind them in love and loss. Killua has not been home for a long time.

“Tell me what you are thinking about our relatives.” She barely managed to finish the sentence before Killua blurted out his response.

“That I am like Illumi.” Release. Voicing fears is liberating. Killua is presenting himself as eager to talk. He will correct that mistake.

“You are, in a way.” The words sting, especially coming from Alluka. “I never really knew Illumi, but I know that he cared about us in a twisted, manipulative way. He sought to control you and me. And he _lied_.” Her eyes sink into him like fangs and there is a poison there, one that paralyzes Killua and stops any attempt of escape. He would not dare escape. “Tell me what you think of most.”

Silence. Strike two.

“Tell me why you will not speak.” Killua can work with this one.

“The truth hurts. The pain I feel is worse than any form of abuse, of torture. I would rather forfeit my freedom than openly discuss my thoughts.” The last part is pure hyperbole, but Killua has played with the idea.  A thought of desperation, yes, but one he has entertained nonetheless.

“Tell me why you think about a topic that causes you so much pain.” Killua could never answer this question. It did not make sense to him, either. Strike three. Alluka could move in for the kill now. “Tell me--”

“Alluka, stop.”

“Absolutely not!” She stands, her eyes wide and full of concern. “If you would rather die than talk about this, then you are not big brother. _My_ big brother!” An awkward silence fills the space left by Alluka’s outburst. The seconds turn to minutes and the minutes feel like eons.

Defeated, Killua’s shoulders slump. “Make your request.” This is it. The moment of absolution.

Alluka lowers herself back onto the stool, seemingly collecting her thoughts. Killua expects a more eloquent request, something to relieve him of the building dread. A flourish in jest, to calm him. Surely his generally empathetic sister was not so frustrated as to deny him that luxury?

“Tell me the truth.” Her face is like stone.

His arms are shaking. When did they start shaking? Perspiration condenses into a drop that rolls slowly down his bridge before making the suicidal leap off the tip of his nose. There is a veritable list of things to say, and only a fraction can be considered important. This is his chance to let the dam break, to flood the valley separating his reality and dreams and swim across. Killua only hopes that he will not drown.

“There is something I want. No, something I _deserve_. I am not happy, but I am. Sometimes. Maybe it is a different kind of happy? The difference between being content and excited. Both are happy emotions, but there is a passivity in the first one. There is a lot I have gained, but also a lot I lost. I want both, but one is more worth it, because it is real.” His eyes are wild and tears run freely. The look on Alluka’s face tells him as much. “It was in one of those textbooks Palm bought. _Risk assessment_. I could end up betting it all on some adolescent whim and losing it all and end up hurting myself regardless and you could hate me and--” Killua’s rambling is cut short by the loud clap of a small hand briefly coming into contact with his cheek. Alluka is standing again. Alluka had slapped him. Hard.

“Is that what you really think of me? That I could hate you?” Alluka is trying hard not to cry. Trying. “Even if you abandoned me, left me for dead, I would always remember what you have done for me. Big brother gave me a life,” she grew quiet before continuing, “and I refuse to take his.”

The cracks in Killua’s world are multiplying in number, gathering to form great ravines, undeniable in size and scope. “No, Alluka. If you could never come to hate me then you are a very stubborn person. I like stubborn people, but only when they are stubborn about things that matter. If you could do me a favor, I want you to stubbornly hold onto this,” Killua, now standing, takes Alluka into his arms, “to know that you gave me purpose after I thought a part of me had died.” Thought? The notion had been his truth only moments ago.

“Is that your wish?” A few moments pass before Killua understands his little sister. Three requests.

“No, I just want to hug you, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

Something comes out, midway through their tight embrace. She tells Killua to pat her head. He complies, assuming that Alluka requested Something conceal her presence in exchange for a light pat. He felt Alluka’s absence before, but just assumed she had been with Palm. He was correct, in a roundabout way. Satisfied, Something disappears, Alluka assuming control once more. The Zoldyck siblings stand like that for some time before finally letting each other go. Alluka says only one thing before returning to her room for the night.

“After Reunion, you should follow your heart, wherever that may take you, because that is where you will find true happiness.”

Killua’s perfectly constructed world shattered into infinitesimal pieces in that instant. Killua’s world is gone. Killua’s world is Gon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First dialogue heavy chapter! Woo! Let me know what you think. I am playing around with how different characters speak as a way to distinguish who is talking when I want real rapid-fire interactions. Killua and Alluka both speak without contractions and often take pauses (as a way to reflect their thoughtful nature). I won't reveal how Gon speaks, but I think it is fairly fitting.
> 
> As for Kurapika and Leorio, whom I hope to write into another piece, I have a few ideas. Something along the lines of technical speech and euphony for Kurapika. As for Leorio, probably a verbal tic, like adding "..., yeah?" at the end of sentences and American slang (e.g. ain't, -in' when talking fast, etc.).


	4. Reunion and Departure

Alluka spares no expense for Reunion, this being one of the few occasions she is allowed access to big brother's seemingly limitless line of credit. A Kakin ballroom that could have accommodated one-hundred guests instead holds the three wanderers, though barely. Picture collages depicting various adventures throughout the last three years adorn several large dining tables, the four-legged fixtures commanding ample space and attention. Big brother’s misty eyes at the photo of Palm reading to Something left Alluka with a tingly feeling. Palm reminiscing on her initial relationship with big brother left Alluka giggling like mad. Envisioning the two partaking in petty squabbles is surreal. Of course, halfway through the party big brother passes out at the chocolate fountain. The established stipulation to abuse big brother's assets is a chocolate attraction. Unfailingly before they had a chance to play, following the grand feast. Alluka requisitioned an inflatable castle this year. One that you _bounce_ in. All of Alluka’s willpower held her from throwing big brother’s comatose body into the castle. Thankfully, Palm acted before Alluka had the opportunity to let her inhibitions wear down. Presently, all three are laughing and enjoying each other, tonight a magnification of the shared feelings between the trio. Big brother is happy.

All good things come to an end; Alluka spent the last hour of Reunion reassuring herself of this. The third Reunion had been the best Reunion yet, but it is nearly time to leave. Big brother has spent three years with Alluka and Something, but now it is time for him to leave. Alluka could not help but feel at ease with the coming change. All good things come to an end. This is a blessing, not a curse. Endings allow for new, better beginnings. Better for the both of them.

***

“Do you have extra batteries?” Alluka’s pestering is beginning to get old.

“Yes,” he lets the affirmative out in a languid manner, compounding the younger one’s annoyance.

“Big brother, stop with the attitude! _You_ are the one who insisted that you make the first leg of the journey on foot. You will need more than a few charges for that sort of trip!” She is correct, but Killua is properly prepared. A dozen or so conjured batteries hang loosely in a pouch by his right hip, each battery containing an electrical capacity equivalent to ten minutes of Godspeed. Roughly translating to two-hundred fifty kilometers in less than optimal conditions. Additionally, the initial thirty minutes he can manage with his regular aura reserves. He needs to cover three-quarters of said potential distance before entering the nearest international port. He will be fine.

Palm interjects. “How about clothes packed for the trip? I know you intend to reach the port tonight, but there will be several stops in between. You need at least a week’s worth of clothing.”

“Have you not seen my wardrobe? I have enough clothes, trust me on this.”

Back to Alluka. Ridiculous. “What about medical records and legal documents? You have been out of the loop for three years, big brother. You cannot rely on that piece of plastic to get you through every background check.”

“Since when has a Hunter license been just a ‘piece of plastic’ to you? This is a valid form of identification and grants near diplomatic immunity. Need I also remind you who afforded our little soirée yesterday evening? Trust me, I am fine.”

Palm again. She has to be doing this for fun. “What about your travel itinerary? You have looked it through twice, right?” A smirk.

“Palm, one more word, and I swear--”

“Big brother--”

Killua is a blur, intercepting Alluka with body bent low to meet the petite girl. “I know you are worried, but I can handle myself.” His voice softens. “Can I see her before I go?”

Alluka holds herself. Defensive body language, Killua notes. “All right, but one more look through your bags before you go...” Alluka’s voice and face fades away, and the porcelain white of Something’s skin appears in its stead.

“Killua go bye?” Please, no. Be resolute.

“Only for a short while. Probably a few weeks, at most.” Palm’s eyes widen before she averts her gaze. A poor attempt of appearing nonchalant. What did her eyes say? Disbelief?

Something seems to consider her next words, brow furrowing in typical Zoldyck fashion. “I love Killua. I not cry. Me make wish. Wish Killua fun.” Killua cannot help but beam, his mouth wide and toothy, a look that he would think out of place on the face of a killer. But it feels right. Right now.

“I will, I promise.” Killua pats Something’s head, the grin ever present. “And,” this is it, “I love Something.” A simple ‘I love you’ is not enough. Something’s way of speech solidifies the meaning, making it feel more real, more personal.

“Alluka...” Something is fishing for the right word to describe what she desires to say. The task is no longer an arduous one, in comparison to the first year they spent traveling. “Alluka want talk.” Close enough.

Alluka discardes the kid gloves. No more holding punches. “All right, open it up! You are not leaving until I inspect your luggage and count every last article of clothing!” Oh, Alluka, for the love of--

“Godspeed.” The declaration of activation is issued as a sigh. This is the only way Killua will be able to leave. His next words hold far more enthusiasm. “I love you, Alluka! Take care of her, Palm!”

A scaled hand extends upwards, waving at Killua as he sprints away, and Palm begins shouting over Alluka, “You do what you have to do, I will do what I have to do!”

“Big brother, you get back here this instant, you...” Her voice fades, but Killua can make out one final shout.

“I love you, _idiot_!”

She is Killua’s sister, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter. It is late and I work tomorrow, but I couldn't sleep, so here you go! I liken this chapter to a sugary snack: small, sweet, but ultimately not filling. I really like how the next chapter is playing out, though, so I am excited to post that. Probably on the 10th.
> 
> By the way, if you haven't noticed, I've essentially characterized Alluka as a combination of Gon and Killua from before the separation. She was fun to write for that very reason.
> 
> I'm going to bed now, before my eyes combust from staring at my computer screen.


	5. To Find What is Gon

Whale Island is a safe bet. Killua never actually expected to find him there; the older of the pair could never stay in one place for a prolonged period of time. Instead, Killua figured the task of locating the older one easier should he choose the same starting point.

Mito is as accommodating as he remembers. Killua could almost pretend that there is not an air of tension between the them. They exchange pleasantries over tea and chocolates while discussing trivial matters, expertly dancing around the reason Killua is here after nearly three years of absence. Not just the physical sort. Mito need not say Killua is no longer a subject of discussion in this house. The sidelong glances, analyzing Killua and his purpose, readily gives her away. Besides, Mito is in no rush. Abe is nowhere to be found. Killua made it a point to ignore the void in the Freecss household. No wonder Mito is so desperate for company, for a recognizable face.

***

Climb, aim, hammer. Wind up, follow through, release. Killua finds solace in menial chores long ignored. A leaky roof is easy to fix. A decadent dinner simple to provide for with the exquisite fish indigenous to Whale Island. A week passes without incident. Yet the hole only grows larger, and that cannot be mended with manual labor.

After a particularly grueling day spent as a fishmonger at port, Killua returns to a sight he had been dreading. Mito, standing halfway up the stairs with his luggage at her sides, wearing a small, sad smile. They both know it is time for him to leave.

“I could have packed my own things.” He is not ungrateful. Mito understands.

“I just want to play the role of mom a little while longer.” She chuckles, a sound that evokes memories quaint and painful. “I am not done yet, you know.” She kneels down. A motherly gesture. The effect would have been comical had she not been standing on the stairs. Killa is roughly twenty-five centimeters taller than her now. A calculated move, Killua notes. They lock eyes. Amber, but defeated. Not the same. “You have a nasty habit of lying to yourself, Killua. Could you, perhaps, explain why you are here after all this time? The actual reason, not what you told me before.” Genuine curiosity, not animosity. A tinge of sadness, too.

“I-um,” stuttering, rather unusual, “I need to find him. To talk to him.” An eyebrow the color of sunset arches. Mito has a look Killua cannot read.

“I thought as much. Well, he is not here, and, like usual, he did not tell me where he went.”

Killua winces. He has enough sense to see where this will end. “But he told you what he wants, right?”

Mito nods. “He told me that he made a mistake. One that needs fixing.” A pause. “Does that mean something to you?”

“Yes.” It means a great deal.

“Will you set out to find him once you leave Whale Island? Do you promise?” Killua nods. Mito bends downward, scooping the bags into her arms before descending the stairs and placing them in a heap at Killua’s feet. Her hand is outstretched. Confused, Killua gives the appendage an inquisitive look. “A handshake, but an extra special one. There are some words that go along with it, but I can say them for you, if you like.” She wraps her pinky tenderly around his own before bringing her thumb forward. He mimics her movements.

“No,” his voice is low and he is poised, “teach me.”

 _Pinky swear made_.

 _Whoever breaks their promise has to swallow a thousand needles_.

 _Sealed with a kiss_.

***

The Shingen-ryū headquarters is a surprisingly modest building. A normal dojo. The scale may impress modest folk, but what had caught Killua is the understated aesthetic. The late grandmaster had been an eccentric man, and, naturally, Killua expected something strange. Aside from the practitioners knowing how to harness the mystic powers of Nen, of course. The sheer amount of unbridled life energy focused in one place is certainly an oddity. Few individuals were particularly impressive, but the number did well to compensate. A congregation of at least a few hundred competent Nen users. Pinpointing his target would be next to impossible.

“Who the hell do you think you're calling old! Say it again and see what happens!” Never mind.

***

The new grandmaster has not changed. Quite literally. Bisky still insists on modifying her appearance to emulate that of a barely pubescent female. Killua understands the benefits of deception very well, but the official successor as grandmaster of Isaac Netero’s school of martial arts has little to hide within her own organization.

“I kicked his ass to the curb. After the stunt he pulled, I refuse to teach him. I try not to make a habit out of being an enabler.” That was a stroke of good fortune. Bisky broke a student’s jaw for calling her old.

“I see. Do you know where he went after he came here?”

“Nope. Told him to leave and that was that. I expected some form of resistance, honestly. I got a little worried when I heard nothing after turning him down, so I sent some of my people after him. Nothing.” Students, without a doubt. Professional Hunters are out of the question. Bisky holds respect within the Hunter Association, but she lacks the tact necessary to make use of it.

“Thank you for your help, Bisky.” He excuses himself, unsure of where to look next.

“Hey, Killua,” apprehension on her tongue, “why are you seeking him out? After everything...” her words turn to mumbles. The topic is a difficult one. They had talked after everything, about everything.

The urge to dodge the question is compelling, to lie, but a conscious lie cannot be made in ignorance. As it currently stands, Killua is not exactly sure what he wants. “I need to see him.” Killua is learning that the truth might be harder to stomach, but it is far more rewarding. Even the less honest truths. Bisky seems to understand, dismissing him with a supportive nod of the head. She approves.

***

“Killua, over here, quickly!” A strained whisper directs his attention to a shadowed figure hidden behind flimsy paper walls. He follows without question, not sensing ill intent in the aura of the beckoning individual.

“Wing!” He cannot help but exclaim in excitement, once behind the aforementioned walls. Killua had all but forgotten of Wing’s position as an assistant master within the school of Shingen-ryū. A new lead has surfaced in the form of a disheveled man with a disarmingly genial smile. Bisky’s ascension to the position of grandmaster left a vacancy, and who better qualified to fill the position than her former pupil? Wing's presence here also makes sense: a master likely has more responsibilities within the school, and Wing is a Head Hunter. Of course he would spend more time here, cultivating new talent. Killua’s thoughts are interrupted by Wing’s scolding.

“Be quiet! Bisky probably knows what I am up to right now, but that does not mean it is okay to force her to deal with it!” Wing looks nervous. The blood on his shirt is not his own. That broken jaw should heal properly if Wing was the one who tended to the injury. “Now, I overheard that you are looking for him, is that right?”

“Yes, any information you can give me is useful.” Killua's eyes plead. Wing has to know something if he pulled him aside like this.

“I know where he went after he came here, but that was nearly two years ago,” Wing's voice becomes quieter still. Killua feels his blood pumping in his ears, the hum of anticipation building in his chest with each whispered syllable that follows. Like a hopeless gossip, Killua hangs onto every word of Wing’s secret.

***

Killua had been trained to keep a calm and collected demeanor. Stay aloof to stay alive. Even subtle emotional tells could become a deadly tool for a crafty opponent. Fighting is a spectacle sport, however, and it is difficult to not get rowdy when three hilariously stocky Zushi clones are delivering a pummeling to the challenger. A flurry of kicks and jabs leave the battered man a deep purple and bleeding out of his left eye. All the while, the real Zushi is perfectly still.

The announcer is astounded, attributing the victory to some feat of inhuman speed, the likes of which the unaided human eye cannot follow. Killua is privy to the actual details of the fight. The real Zushi maintained his normal stance throughout the duration of the fight. Judging by the announcer’s assessment, the clones were emitted, not conjured; an excellent choice, given that the Emission category is much closer to Zushi’s Nen affinity. The reaction time and coordination of the clones can be attributed to mastery of the Manipulation category, Zushi's natural type. The only questionable choice with this Hatsu is the use of Transmutation, a Manipulator’s weakest category, in order to change the shape of his aura to mimic his current appearance. While it is clear Zushi is attempting to avoid another Kastro-esque affair by allowing for dynamic changes to his clones, the choice of Transmutation presents an exploitable weakness. They may discuss it later, after he questions Zushi.

***

Zushi strictly adheres to several self-imposed rules. Everything from sleep to food to rest is regimented. Time spent after a match is no exception. First, he removes his robes and cleans himself. Once free of clothing and sweat, he applies various luxurious pamper items to his body. Access to exotic oils is one of the perks of being a Floor Master. A nap follows shortly thereafter. When he awakens, body and mind rejuvenated, a bathrobe is left draped over the arm of his sofa and tapes from his previous fight are waiting on the coffee table, courtesy of the Heaven's Arena staff. Time removed allows for heightened objectivity.

He objectively determines the last fight had been a slaughter.

Zushi has garnered enough experience to determine the type of a majority of opponents within moments of the first swing. People tend to unknowingly broadcast aspects of their personality and their skills. The last challenger is clearly an Enhancer. Strength-based. Zushi had to whittle the challenger down and capitalize on openings in his defense. There were a lot. Zushi usually misses out on observing the Hatsu of opponents so horribly unrefined. If the last challenger’s technique speaks anything of his Hatsu, then Zushi did not miss out on much. Still, the feeling of missing an important detail lingers, a tasty nugget of potential knowledge lost.

Zushi is brought out of his cerebral trappings by the sound of knuckles hurriedly slamming against the door to his penthouse. The serenity of order has been disrupted. Perturbed, Zushi glides towards the door, aura expanding to ward away the potential malcontent. No response. Zushi is confused, as no rabid fan could have made it past security. He explicitly told them to not allow any visitations within twenty-four hours of a fight.

Zushi opens the door and is greeted by a ghost from the past.

***

“I still have trouble believing you are training him.” Rather, Killua did not understand how Zushi is still training him. Slightly less than two years of tutelage. Wing may have declared Zushi a prodigy, but even the newly appointed master stated the pair are several orders of magnitude above Zushi in terms of raw talent.

“You will understand when you see him.”

“Speaking of which, are we almost there? Does he always spend his time off parading around the forest, outside of the city?” Zushi and Killua have been walking for an inordinate amount of time, and the cityscape disappeared long ago.

Zushi shakes his head. “No, he spends time off training. It just so happens that he trains best while immersed in nature.” That does sound like him.

“Do you have an idea of what he--” Zushi abruptly halts and Killua follows suit.

“Killua, he told me about everything. Well, what he remembers. The things that matter to you, anyways.” Zushi’s eyes are serious, more so than usual. Grave. “You are my friend, Killua, and so is he. I doubt I can fix anything, but I can offer advice. Do you want it?” Killua, taken aback, does not respond. Zushi continues. “He is not ready. He is close, but not quite there. Still, you have every right to instigate, given what little information I have.” Killua considers turning away. The older one could use more time.

The realization. No. The older of the pair might want time, but what he wants does not matter. What matters is what Killua wants. The time has come for him to be selfish. He is allowed to be selfish about this.

“Take me to him.”

Forest lush encircles the pond in a sea of verdant green, some tall, some short, all undulating with the breeze. Riding the waves are colorful little blooms of bright red, light purple, and yellow. Light reflects off the surface of glistening blue in the center of the clearing, the sun’s personal mirror. All frame a large tree opposite the entry point. Roots twist in countless spirals of rich brown, eventually congealing to form an imposing cylindrical trunk that threatens to breach the heavens above. The leaves are large and plenty, evidence of health and longevity. The stories such an ancient tree could tell.

Killua would have noticed all of this had he not met the gaze of the other young man sitting at the foot of the tree. Gon. Not the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favorite chapter. I really enjoy introducing old characters with new tricks/roles. I hope it didn't feel too rushed! The fast pace is one of the things I actually really like about this chapter. I tried to change it, but I couldn't.
> 
> Also, while it was kind of awkward exclusively referring to Gon using pronouns, I really hope an effect was achieved when he was finally introduced. I just wanted to experiment with that a little. Make him distant until he is actually there.
> 
> As a final note, I promise to stop with the Gon/gone parallels. It just works so well.


	6. Strangers

In hindsight, holding onto any preconceived notions is dangerous, especially concerning Gon. Killua had imagined a few different responses from the older one. An image of Gon sprinting towards him, flailing arms spread wide, before being intercepted by a left hook stood out. Killua never anticipated that Gon would look alarmed, sigh, and ignore him.

The surprise only just set when unadulterated fury took hold. Zushi attempted to defuse the situation, but the air surrounding Killua crackled with electricity, and his eyes were dark and cloudy. Pale claws wrapped around the hem of a black shirt, yanking Gon up to eye level.

“You,” his voice is thunder, “think you have the right to ignore me?” Gon did not meet his eyes. The tumult of emotions Killua felt intensified. “Speak! Say something, damn it!”

“I missed Killua.” A lull in the storm.

***

Killua feels settled into his room. Maroon blankets lay draped over an enormous bed with posts of rich mahogany. Killua had acquainted himself with their embrace immediately upon entering. The carpeted floor feels soft against his toes, and Killua occasionally find himself burying his lowest extremities into its depths for warmth. Killua, quickly running out of diversionary tactics, opts to spend the night bathing by candlelight, indulging in the comforts of an overpriced hotel suite. Any distraction is welcome after what happened in the forest.

All intensity fled Killua in the moment Gon spoke. Only a profound emptiness was left. No apologies. Nothing standard. Refreshing.

Debilitating. Feeling with conviction is easy. To not understand how one feels, to be blind to what one wants, is another sort of torture. Substitute physical discomfort for the mental variety.

The hardest part had been departing amicably, if at all possible after exuding aura with murderous intent. Killua glanced over at a rectangular piece of plastic nestled on the sink with the logo of Heaven’s Arena shamelessly plastered on the upper-left corner. A fight tomorrow, in the one-sixties.

Nothing is logically consistent. First and foremost, Gon is not acting like the person Killua remembers. The transformation could be welcome or disastrous. Killua is not yet decided. Second, a fight in the one-sixties. Gon and Killua qualified for the two-hundreds over five years ago, at the age of twelve, without Nen. Even if Gon lacks Nen, he should still be in the one-nineties. Third, Gon has regained his Nen. Sort of. Killua felt light reverberations of life energy, familiar though noticeably quieter. That had played a part in instigating his rage. After becoming the epitome of reckless abandon, Gon has regained access to the very tool that nearly killed him. Furthermore, though only a few months after their separation at the World Tree, Gon stated in their final correspondence that he would be spending time as a normal person. Then, according to Mito, Gon vanished shortly afterwards. Apparently, to pursue mediocrity at Heaven’s Arena. To what end?

He should have maintained contact with Gon. The threat of Milluki tracing emails for Illumi had been the reasoning he gave, but lying to oneself is unbecoming. Thoughts of Gon were unbearable. Pictures of Gon were all too common, attached to digital letters containing poor grammar and idiosyncratic syntax. Best to sever all ties and forget. Deactivating an email account had never been a more trying endeavor. He would never forget the appearance nor the person. The small, raven-haired idiot, clad in green, forever smiling.

Small is no longer an accurate descriptor. Killua is still the taller of the two, but Gon probably stands at one-hundred eighty centimeters now, give or take a few. The hair is shorter and messier. Also, sideburns. A sort of rugged, tousled look. Eyes still round, but not lively. Of the two, only Killua retained his lithe frame. Gon grew out, now sporting wide shoulders with muscled arms and legs. Not quite the extreme brawn he witnessed in the Republic of East Gorteau. Slightly shorter than before, too.  Thankfully, different enough, for now.

Steam billows from the water and bubbles coalesce into a frothy soup of detergent. Killua has been lounging in the tub for nearly one hour. Too long to spend deciding a course of action. He wills his body to move. It does, rising gracefully above the sudsy surface.

He will attend the match tomorrow. The illusion of choice is a tool of unquantifiable value.

***

The clock reads four twenty-three. The match commences at sixteen-thirty. He should be resting right now. He cannot. Memories and thoughts haunt him. The clock now reads four twenty-four.

The soft ticking of the wall clock is the soundtrack to his nights in Heaven’s Arena. Normally, Gon would lose himself in the cadence, drifting off into a deep slumber. The ticks are now a countdown, each second warning of an impending doomsday event. Gon is more than willing to invest all future earnings at Heaven's Arena in exchange for time.

Gon expected Killua’s initial reaction. Even the scuffle and verbal battering were not unforeseen possibilities. Gon did not expect that Killua would search for him. Gon figured he would need another year to complete his training, at which point he would search for the younger of the pair. Fate plays nasty tricks. Killua still does everything for Gon, always meeting him, sometimes the whole way if he has to. Killua even accepted the spare ticket meant for Zushi. Zushi is a Floor Master, meaning he can still watch from the section reserved for special guests and dignitaries. Zushi prefers regular seating, but he assured Gon that this arrangement is perfectly fine.

Killua is different. He is a lot taller. Probably taller than his eldest brother. His sense of fashion has not changed in the sense that it is always changing, although he still appears to prefer darker colors and avant-garde styles. The fluffy white is cropped at the sides. The cowlick remains, crescent locks protruding in all different directions. His ears are pierced, and homemade earrings are embedded in the lobes, no doubt a gift from Alluka. Killua still moves with an angelic elegance, a product of his former profession. An angel of death. The pungent scent of chocolate implies little change to his palate.  A constant is something Gon needs right now.

The confession had been sincere. Gon missed Killua every single day. Initially, the feeling of loneliness had been easy to ignore. Gon had Mito and Abe. The strange feeling would go away in time. It took half a year and complete silence on Killua’s end for Gon to realize that the dull ache would not leave until he could call Killua his most precious person again, without feeling guilty for what he had done in East Gorteau.

Gon rolls over onto his stomach, buries his head into his pillow, and then hollers in frustration. Gon wants to prove himself to Killua. Gon needs to prove himself to Killua. All the time spent training will be for naught if he cannot stand by Killua’s side once more. Gon does not want to say goodbye. Gon is not sure he can say goodbye. He refuses to say goodbye.

Selfish thoughts, but only if Killua wants to leave. Please, do not let Killua leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter. Sorry for the delayed release. I have been busy figuring out my work situation, preparing for college (I'll be a freshman!), and making time for friends. In light of recent developments, I can only promise that this story will eventually be finished. I am still working on the final versions of chapters seven and eight, and I hope to finish the first draft of chapter nine tonight.
> 
> On an unrelated note, I recently finished Dragon Age: Inquisition, and I possess the urge to write something about that ending. If you don't know what I'm talking about, then ignore this, but I have the itch. I shall see what happens.


	7. Training Regimen

Gon took a straightforward jab to the face. Strange. Pivoting on his left foot and an upward thrust from his right elbow would have intercepted the blow and left the opponent’s midriff exposed, allowing for a swift knockout. The referee awarded the veiny stump of a man a point for the clean hit. Gon threw a light left hook coupled with two right jabs, a kick ending the barrage as an addendum of sorts. Clean hit, one point. Gon outright ignored every opportunity to end the match. Killua noted six separate occasions, and Gon’s hesitant posturing throughout displays evidence that he is very aware of them.

Another hit, only this time the blow connects with the left temple.  Eyes white, Gon staggers into a corner before vomiting. Critical strike, three points. The crowd is belligerent. Killua grits his teeth, averting his eyes to the grisly scene. The older teen is taking unnecessary damage. For what reason? A convincing show? Gon is leagues beyond the opponent he faces. A respectable punch unaided by Nen would result in internal bleeding. Blocking said punch with the forearms crossed would cause breakage of the radius and ulna, though only in the outermost arm. In the midst of these thoughts, Gon lands a successful critical strike, followed by another clean hit. Five to four, advantage to Gon. Close, but for no obvious reason.

The infernal idiot.

***

The stars remain. He is disoriented. Gon had not meant to let that punch pass; however, he has not learned from his previous error. Amber eyes still seek cool blue intently.

The fear that Killua did not attend the fight gnaws at the back of his mind. Usually, Gon would lose himself in a fight, zone to the repetitive tapping of feet against the white tiles of center stage. A feeling of peace.

Not today. Another critical strike. Five to seven, the opponent’s lead. Time to whittle the other down. A knockout is not safe. Instead, tie up the match before ending it with a critical strike. Powerful enough to knock the opponent off his feet, but dialed back so that the other can still stand. Placing is also determined by the aftermath. This match will grant access to the one-seventies, and thus another step towards his goal. Killua.

Keep blocking while maneuvering in a circle. Search for silvery white in between punches. Use Gyo to pinpoint any especially strong aura. Bingo.

Worry. Gon experiences relief alongside a pronounced pang of guilt. Killua does not understand why Gon subjects himself to this beating. As an ex-assassin, Killua possesses keener eyes than most. Gon counts four gaping holes in the opponent’s defence. Killua likely notices more. Enticing as they are, Gon makes a conscious effort to avoid said areas. Focus on the goal. Metaphorically, not literally.

They are tied. Weave in and out; search for one of the openings. Two appear. One is fatal, and the other too dangerous to chance. A third. Acceptable. Winding up, a tanned fist smashes into muscled contours, sending the stocky man flying two meters backwards before landing unceremoniously in a heap of bruised flesh.

Critical strike. Ten to seven. Victory. The opponent spends a minute in the fetal position before rising.

***

“Excellent work, Gon. That fight secured a spot in the one-seventies, for sure.” Zushi is a slave driver, but he never denies praise when it is due. Gon earned this.

Gon tallies the minutes wasted as medical professionals too numerous to count examine his busted body. A masculine voice states that Gon will need to spend the weekend in the infirmary before he is medically cleared. The doctor is obviously new. Gon is recovering as they speak, and the veterans realize this. A feminine voice pipes up, giving him an hour. The new doctor is incredulous. Gon stifles a laugh.

“Your medical records, sir.” The feminine voice. She is a petite woman. She hands Gon a folder. Presumably, another doctor. Her eyes are round and warm.

“Thanks.” Gon flips the nondescript manila folder over, opening the back in order to peruse old x-rays and reports. The new report is at the front, but Gon is fascinated by the paperwork that has accumulated. Words Gon does not understand, such as ‘hemorrhage’ and ‘tarsometatarsal’, populate the pages. The x-rays help. Gon figures out that the latter was used in reference to a foot injury.

Time compresses as Gon becomes engrossed in his reading. He does not notice Zushi leaving, to wait at the usual spot. Ten minutes remain when he finally arrives at the newest addition to his anthology of injury. A full report. Fresh ink. Gon ignores the information at the top, unimportant details such as the name of the place of treatment and information on the doctors servicing him. _180.7 centimeters_ ; _87.1 kilograms_. Gon pinches the skin on his right side. Muscle is denser than fat, he notes. Gon closes the folder, laying back on the bed. Five minutes left.

***

Killua paces between one of the many grandiose pillars dotting the lounge and the entryway to the medical center for the one-sixties. He saw Gon saunter off the stage, beaming. Killua caught a glimpse of the old Gon in that moment. That scares him.

Killua collects his thoughts, methodically breathing in and out. A concussion is the worst scenario possible, though not imaginable. Flashbacks of a withered and broken Gon, laying lifeless, devoid of light. Killua hates hospitals. Killua hates Gon.

Killua hates what he fears.

***

“Killua,” a whine, but it is not forced, “I just got outta the hospital, so don't put me back in!”

“I cross three continents and two oceans only to watch you get beaten into a bloody pulp!” Gon is unharmed. Killua is trying hard to remain vehement. “I still cannot understand, for the love of all that is sacred, what you are doing! You--you _idiot_!”

Gon concentrates on answering Killua and not the old verbal tic. “And now Killua is gonna get an explanation.” People are beginning to stare. Good. Killua will want to go somewhere else. Gon has just the place in mind.

“G-Gon, will you speak normally for once?” Killua is so easily embarrassed.

“What does Killua mean?”

“That, right there! Second-person pronouns exist for a reason.” Gon tilts his head, causing Killua to declare, “All right, this is hopeless. We should leave. _You_ can explain _yourself_ when we get out of this crowd.”

“Why did Killua say those words weird?”

“You have no clue what the second-person is, do you?”

Gon thinks carefully before answering, “The one after the first?” Groaning, Killua grabs Gon by the arm and leads him towards the elevator.

***

The forest clearing is stunning at night. The moon, modestly reflected upon the pond, allows other stars time to shine, and they dance upon the surface of darkness. Dewy grass reflects the borrowed light of the moon, bright rays diffusing unevenly. The titanic tree appears less a natural phenomenon and more a manmade construct. The base a tower erected from stone and the leafy top a keep hidden in the clouds.

Zushi has been waiting patiently for them. For Gon. Gon sits, legs crossed over one another, comfortably between the imposing roots of the tree. Zushi makes his way over to Killua, who is sitting spread-eagle on the damp forest floor. Zushi follows suit.

“So,” Killua is perplexed by the proceedings, “is this part of his training?” Zushi nods. “I see...”

“He is almost done. Try using Gyo.” Killua does as Zushi instructed, aura pooling around his eyes.

Wisps of aura stretch around Gon in a radius of five meters. Concentration. The left foot shines, though dimly. Specks of light push through minuscule openings, releasing the steam of life energy. The openings connect, slowly but surely, until the left foot is enshrouded in rapidly evaporating aura. Gon’s face cycles through shades of purple. A huff. Gon relaxes. His left foot is incandescent.

“I think your student made a mess of himself.” Zushi gives a disapproving look. Killua sighs. “In all seriousness, what did I just witness?”

“The culmination of concentrated effort of will to achieve the physical and spiritual peak.” Killua gives a look of confusion, so Zushi elaborates further. “The realization of the Shingen-ryū philosophy.” Nothing. Killua is reminded of attempting conversation with Wing. “The _right_ way to awaken Nen!” Zushi lacks the same adherence to cryptic speech. Wing could continue all evening.

“What makes this better than Initiation?”

“I’ll tell Killua, if he wants to know.” Gon, eyes a smidge brighter than the last time the three of them were here.

***

“That is a fairly elaborate training regimen.” Killua looks impressed, despite his condescending tone.

“Gon insisted that I hold nothing back, so I honored his request.” Zushi looks proudly at his student. “The restrictions are equally as daunting.” Killua perks up at the mention of restrictions. Gon takes note and answers the question before it is uttered.

“Yeah, it is super difficult! The first lesson was one in humility. Zushi had me face my opponent on the first floor with no reservations. I ended up on the one-hundredth floor!”  Gon scratches the back of his head bashfully. “Zushi had me lose every match until I was back on the ground floor. A whole month of losing.”

“I can hardly fathom you going through with that, Gon. Did you really lose every match, or did you just forfeit?”

Zushi speaks this time. “Today is an example: Gon has to provide a convincing fight. The same principle applies to losing. Forfeiting a match means forfeiting my help. He must appear at every scheduled match.”

“That is, erm, rather harsh.” Killua puts it bluntly. Eyebrows furrow. Killua is thinking. “What is the special restriction to be met in order to do what you did tonight?

Zushi is on the cusp of replying when Gon intervened enthusiastically. “I have to win five matches in every set of ten floors before moving up. If I jump ahead, I have to lose until I’m back at the previous set of ten.  When I make it to the next set, I get to open some of my Nen pore-thingies!”

“Micropyles,” Zushi offers.

“Yeah, those! I was so excited to reawaken a new part that I scheduled a match for tomorrow!” Gon doed not mention Killua appearing as a part of his eagerness.

“So,” Killua pauses, biting his lip, “what parts have you reopened?”

“Well,” Zushi begins, “the one-hundredth floor represents his starting point, so I split his body into ten distinct parts. The list goes in this order: head, chest, abdomen, thighs, arms, calves, left foot, right foot, left hand, right hand.”

"I complete my training when I make it to the two-hundredth floor!" Gon is delighted by his progress.

Killua turns his attention to Gon. “You never really answered my question from before. What makes this better than Initiation?”

A profound silence overtakes the air. Gon shoots Zushi a look, requesting permission. Pensively, Zushi nods, but not before he adds, "That has to do with the order, as well."

Gon speaks next. “I want Killua to trust me again, so I wanna make sure I'm really ready to use my hands. They can... hurt people. People I don't want to.”

Killua walks away without a word.

***

Electricity snaps as Killua sprints to his hotel room. He needs to leave. Spending anymore time here may convince him that things could be better than they were, before Neo-Green Life and East Gorteau. Killua never intended to stay; to be perfectly candid, he never had any intentions. He had the urge to see Gon. Killua now wants a definitive end, to finally confront Gon. Closure will only come in the form of Killua finally letting Gon go. He needs to leave. He wants to stay.

The rain begins to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I responded to a comment the other day, but decided to delete it and just put the important bits in a note. I hope the person I responded to doesn't mind!
> 
> Below is my interpretation of what the various Nen categories can do:  
> 1\. Enhancement - Aura used to enhance already existing attributes. Applicable to the body and mind (e.g. Wink Blue).  
> 2\. Transmutation - Aura mimicking the qualities of something else. Includes the transformation of shape.  
> 3\. Emission - Separation of aura from the body. Fairly straightforward.  
> 4\. Conjuration - The physical manifestation of aura in order to create things that exist or could exist (i.e. no invincible shields, perfect swords, etc.). Visible to those without Nen.  
> 5\. Manipulation - Using aura to exert control over living and nonliving things. Due to the nature of Nen, I only count aura as being manipulated when it is separated from the body. For example, Dowsing Chain is purely Conjuration because it is still connected to Kurapika; on the other hand, Judgement Chain uses Manipulation because it follows a directive after being separated from the body.  
> 6\. Specialization - Any ability that does not neatly fall into the above categories. This also includes abilities that utilize multiple categories at maximum efficiency, such as Emperor Time, Skill Hunter, and Pakunoda's ability (which I deem some odd fusion of Manipulation and Enhancement).


	8. Talk to Me

The pattering of rain threatens to drive Killua to the brink of insanity. He could function after several days without rest, but that is not to say the experience is an enjoyable one. Two days leaves periorbital tissue the color mauve. Five days slows reaction time significantly. Only one day need pass before paranoia takes hold. In a large city, deprived of sleep, all alone. Similar to before. Before escaping the domineering Zoldyck household. Before participating in the Hunter Exam. Before Gon.

Provided enough time to incubate, all thoughts lead to Gon. The chance encounter, the various phases, the hamfisted attempt at a rescue, the introduction of Nen, the pursuit of Ging, the light. The toxicity. Killua clenches the sheets.

The fight with Hisoka. He can manage Gon confronting the depraved clown in a controlled environment. Instigating multiple fights with the Phantom Troupe. An important task for Gon, so he will act accordingly. Only he can hold the ball. Excruciating pain. He is mentally unscathed, but Killua still registers the searing burns. No bother mentioning that detail; Gon is aware. The feeling of usefulness is cause for elation, never mind the potentially permanent destruction of his hands. Breath of Archangel was a consideration all along, surely. A mission to save Kite. Gon moving forward with a singular purpose could accomplish impossible tasks, but raising the dead is beyond the realm of indomitable will. Follow Gon, continue supporting him. The denouncement. Killua cares more deeply than Gon will ever realize. The transformation. The aftermath. An arm missing, bones sticking out of flesh, leathery and twisted. A corporeal nightmare.

The hard part of a separation is not the act of walking away. The hard part is the goodbye. An unspoken fear, that both parties will drift apart, too different for reconciliation. Killua learned this at the World Tree. The truth became increasingly evident after Killua realized neither one bid the other a farewell. Until next time. Killua later hoped for estrangement, an easier end to the affair. Instead, Gon remained true to himself, differing only in experience. Mature in areas that matter. Different, but unchanged.

A definitive end is needed.

***

Breath in. Hold. Breath out. Wait. Repeat.

The cyclical pattern of meditation is a lullaby to Gon. He may have chased after Killua had he been a year younger. However, the temperance Gon cultivated as a student of Shingen-ryū will eventually break. Gon only hopes Killua decides a course of action before the tipping point is reached.

The raven-haired teen knows Killua well. Killua will either leave without confronting him or return without the proper conviction. A conundrum. To leave is to exacerbate the issue that plagues Killua, saving it for a later date. To return is to open discussion. A talk. A real one, this time.

Gon remembers little from the first talk, a testament to its limited impact. However, he recalls three features with clarity: brevity, tears, and a hug. Brevity for the sake of both Killua and Gon. Gon had been, still is, intensely ashamed. Killua could not stomach an extended discussion on the matter; his eyes would take on a hollow look and Gon could tell he was having flashbacks. Gon never asked what it was Killua saw. He is afraid to find out. Tears flowed freely from Gon. Resisting the urge for contact, the prototype for the self-imposed exile to come. Gon sent only one email before journeying to find a teacher. Months had passed since the last email from Killua, and Gon knew Killua would never receive it. Finally, the hug. The last form of physical interaction the two had shared until Killua held him flush against the tree, sharpened nails ripping through rough cotton.

Breathing, soft and steady. Gon knows not to listen for footsteps.

***

Gon spent the night here. Even with the rain pouring down, the older one sits stoically. Meditation. Wetted grass from the inclement weather, freshly matted down in the shape of a foot. Not belonging to Gon. Zushi. The two are alone.

“Killua is here to say goodbye, right?” Killua nods. “Fine, let’s get this over with.” His tone prickles with annoyance.

“Hold on. No. You are not allowed to act that way towards me. This is all you. You brought this upon yourself.” His voice halts, searching for the proper conviction, before declaring, “You do not get to tell me what to do anymore.”

“Is that what Killua thinks? After I spend two damn years training, Killua comes in and tells me I’m not supposed to feel sad? Or angry that he won’t talk about the important stuff?”

“Listen here, _idiot_ ,” Killua emphatically stresses the last word, “I spent two years risking life and limb for a selfish, suicidal maniac. I reserve the right to talk when I feel--”

“Then say something! That’s why you’re here, right? And not just _here_ here, but here, with me. You hunted me. I tried talking last night, I’m trying right now, but I can’t get more than a few words in. I’m not done.” Killua reluctantly closes his mouth, a look of hurt plastered upon his face. Gon begins to realize what he has just done. “No, I didn’t mean... look, I’m selfish. Not as bad as before. I have a match in two hours, and I'm thinking about it, but I miss Killua. So much. I wanna prove myself! Instead of finishing this,” Gon motions with his hands open, wrists twisting in exasperation, “and being ready, Killua decided to come early. I thought this was a good thing, until Killua made his hand a claw to slit my throat!”

“You gave me a look of indignation! You were acting ungrateful.” Killua defends himself, though the mention of his unconscious reaction to Gon leaves him embarrassed. He had not noticed the modification to his anatomy until after the episode.

“I looked in--, whatever that word is, because I wasn’t ready yet! I'm not finished with my training, so I was angry with myself! Am.” Killua cannot help but feel minor guilt at having misread his former best friend. “Then, when I try to tell Killua the steps I’ve taken to get better, to be someone worth calling a friend, he leaves. So, yeah, if you wanna say goodbye without so much as talking, then go. It’s Killua’s right, but I don’t have to like it.”

“Gon, this is not how I want this to end.”

“Yeah, I know, because Killua doesn’t wanna end it.”

“You know nothing.”

“I know Killua.”

“Things change.”

“Not everything. Killua came back. Twice now.” Amber orbs meet slanted blue. Calloused tan takes hold of soft white. “Talk to me.”

***

“Gon, you wanted to talk, so _talk_.” Half an hour. Killua waited half an hour to make that demand. Killua is apprehensive, not agitated. A gentle touch. Killua will respond poorly otherwise.

“I made a mistake. One--”

“One that needs fixing.”

“Yeah.” Gon waits. Gon will wait for all of eternity, if necessary.

“I will tell the truth. I came here to see you. I only just decided that what I need is closure, and I also decided that closure will only come in the form of an actual goodbye.”

“Why?” Reveal your hand, Killua. Tell the truth. Gon frowns slightly. Thinking in terms of games is wrong. Not _wrong_ , but assuredly wrong.

“I am scared.” A pause. Consideration denotes sincerity. “You are different, and I am not certain in what ways, or to what extent. I want to be around you again, but not at my expense. As equals.”

“As friends.”

“One step at a time, Gon.” Rejection, though not definite, colored with doubtful hope. Gon cannot hide the wretchedness he feels then, the sudden awareness of the sorrow he wrought for Killua. Not that he ever denies the truth, but to confront the living proof of a string of personal errors is a formidable task. Nauseating, but he cannot escape himself, or what he had been, no more than he already has.

“I want that too, Killua. A part of me knew Killua would wanna be friends again. I wanna do what Killua wants, what he needs. Let me?”

“I cannot take your word for this, Gon.” Tears begin to form. Killua clearly desires to believe Gon, but Killua needs to keep himself safe. Gon damaged Killua. His most precious person. Worse, a rift is present, a wedge of substantial magnitude. Gon needs either a miracle or a damn fine idea. Gon always thinks best when placed in immensely trying situations.

“Killua doesn’t understand me anymore, so I have an idea.”

“What would that be, Gon?”

Luminous, full of warmth. Light pours forth, long since suppressed by regret, gushing upwards and forwards and out. Advice. Sacred wisdom. Killua stares, an expression akin to wonder, transfixed at the unprecedented transmogrification, a development not expected in the slightest. Radiant, an old light, but feverish with new conviction. Shining brighter. Gon remembers that first day off of the island. Kurapika and Leorio at odds. A simple solution. Gon’s favorite sort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is nigh! I worry that my amateurish skill in constructing a plot is beginning to show, based on where this is leading. It might be a while before my next post; I really want the next chapter to turn out well, and I am having a lot of trouble with it. I'm also moving into my dorm within the week, so real life is going to take priority.
> 
> On another note, I went through and edited the ENTIRE fic. I deleted my double spaces after the period, cleared up some confusing pronouns, etc. Nothing to change the core of the story, just some nitpicking. UGH, I really want to finish this. It'll be exciting to know that I completed something roughly the size of a novella (my current estimate on the final word count is around 15,000).


	9. Fight Me

“Fight me.” The suggestion had been as unexpected as the alteration in countenance. Dazzling amber. Undeniably the same eyes that captured his attention a great many years ago. Killua could never deny those eyes. Gon continues, unabashed by the lack of response, “Aunt Mito always said that differences are best understood after a fight. So,” the fire intensifies, threatening to set Killua ablaze, “fight me.”

The Zoldyck component of Killua’s conscience encourages the prospect in earnest. A lesson in pain is what Gon needs. Physical torment is nothing compared to the emotional variant, but it will suffice. Proper amends, possibly providing closure. End the charade, end the chance of suffering extended pain, end Gon. Conversely, the component of Killua’s conscience that he chose, respects, and vowed to embody spoke of the potential danger. Gon is hardly strong enough to survive an actual fight, and he is certainly too far beneath Killua to do remotely any damage. Gon has made strides in what seems like the right direction. Gon deserves redemption, it petitioned. A dilemma with no correct answer.

This is an opportunity, Killua notes. To test Gon; to test himself. To test if the secrets he told Alluka weeks ago ring true.

“I propose an alternative. Instead of a conventional fight, which will end with you incapacitated, I vote for a test of my choosing.” True to form, Killua is forever dwelling in between decisions. “Before you protest, we clearly understand each other. You want to prove yourself to me. I would much rather see how you have changed for myself. I will then pass judgement.”

“Killua won’t go easy on me?” Unashamedly prideful.

“I would never.”

Gon takes time to consider the proposition, face scrunched up as he thinks intently. Killua tries to suppress a smile brought forth by the thoughtful look of his former friend. Gon, seemingly satisfied, finally speaks, “Okay, let’s do it.”

***

Killua carries one dozen, the maximum number of batteries he can conjure, with him at all times, though his skill as a combatant does not warrant the precaution. He releases his aura, transmuting the energy into electricity. A blue hue surrounds his body and white hair stands on end. The middle lock forms a shape similar to a bolt of lightning. There is a low hum. Killua feels alive with energy. His signature technique. Gon has a look of wonder and excitement upon his face. Killua always assumed that Gon’s impaired state after killing Pitou left his memory patchy. The response to his ability supports said hypothesis. Gon does not recognize Godspeed.

Killua guides his left foot across the forest floor, sketching a circle one meter in diameter. “This line,” he pointedly taps his foot, “is the point of no return.” Killua raises a finger, and Gon zeroes in on bony white. “You need to land one hit. I will stay in the circle until you begin the fight.”

“What happens if I get Killua?”

“We will talk.” Killua purses his lips before speaking further. “A fair warning: your first attempt will be your only opportunity. I will knock you out and we will say goodbye. When you fail, of course.” Gon pouts. Killua expected some bravado, a display of defiance. Instead, Gon hangs back.

The raven-haired teen is a conundrum.

***

 _I will not fail_. Gon held the words back, but only barely. Killua remains standing in the center of an electric field. The hair on Gon’s body stands on end, responding to the transmuted aura. This Hatsu must be incredibly draining. Even if Killua only needs to catalyze the conversion, sustaining this technique would eventually require an outside source. Gon needs to wait.

Half an hour passes. A miscalculation on his part, perhaps? Gon assumes the ability is defensive in nature, meaning he will need some bent to get the drop on Killua. Gon considers climbing the large tree, using the force of gravity to fall onto Killua. The younger one never specified the quality of the hit, only that one successfully connects. The pond is also an option. Gon could wet the ground Killua stands on and use his overwhelming mass to force the younger one to lose his footing. Gon remembers his left foot. A Ko enhanced jump could provide the momentum necessary to disrupt Killua's stance. Instinctually, Gon knows these ideas are doomed to failure. Killua would not wager everything so confidently; however, there must be a weakness. Killua gave him this chance to prove himself. Resigned to waiting once again, Gon activates Gyo. Nothing will escape his diligent observation. There must be a weakness.

A flicker of movement. Gyo has proven marginally effective. Gon now knows the strength of the technique: Killua is making himself faster. Well, not faster than physically possible, but more efficient. Perfect efficiency. Based on the shape and position of the blur, Killua moved an arm. Something concealed. Gon notices the rise in Killua’s aura moments later. An external source of power; a physical object hidden with In. Gon continues watching.

Intervals of ten. The same movement every ten minutes. Gon counts the time between the changes in aura. Gon periodically walks about to test new ideas, attempting to appear ignorant of the information he has gathered. Killua cannot learn that he has determined the nature of his ability.

The sixth movement. His match is in thirty minutes. Gon will wait.

***

Six remain. The sun crests over the clouds, peering over the swirl of black and grey and white. The storm is clearing. Gon stalks the perimeter, carefully keeping his distance. The lack of impatience is a promising sign, though he is not yet certain that Gon has discovered his weakness.

“Gon,” the first interaction since the test began. Gon is seemingly taken out of his predatory trance. “Your match is approaching. I distinctly remember Zushi saying you cannot forfeit a match, or you will lose his help.” Killua knows exactly how to push Gon.

“Killua is more important right now.” An excellent response, though his tone betrays him. Gon is fidgeting.

“Am I? What a pleasant change in tune.” Gon will break, Killua is certain. “I recall a particular Hunter trading everything for the power to kill out of revenge. I recall that selfsame Hunter telling me how little I cared. Tell me, Gon, what do you recall?”

A quiver of the lips. Gon is not lashing out. Killua almost apologizes before mentally berating himself. Gon regains his composure before responding. “I can’t change that, Killua. It’s in the past, now I--”

“Now what? You are suddenly reformed, a new person? _Now I can focus on the future, being the friend Killua deserves!_ You were going to say that, were you not?” Silence. Gon looks despondent. “What about the future? Of course, I am referring to the immediate future, as I know you cannot think beyond the here and now. Do you want the time remaining until your match? I would happily oblige.”

“I’ll wait here forever, if I have to.” Killua nearly doles out some new vitriol, but a word stands out and placates him. _Wait_. Gon is not hatching a pointless plan; Gon is waiting. Killua is not sure when Gon figured out the chink in his technique. It does not even matter. What matters is that the older one knows, and he chose to stay. He is resolved to place everything on the line for Killua. Killua cannot help letting out a defeated sigh, the bitterness dissipating.

“You idiot.”

***

Something has changed. Killua is no longer in a fighting stance. His hand reaches down, slowly pulling a cylinder out of a pouch. A battery, held between the thumb and index finger of his right hand. The tips glow an electric blue. Another aura spike. Killua then says, “I have five of these conjured batteries left. I call them Auxiliary Aura. Double As, for short. You are already familiar with how they artificially extend the duration of Godspeed.”

“Why did--” Gon cannot understand Killua’s motivation for divulging this information.

“You heard me: you are an idiot. Stop betting everything on a hunch. I have five Double As left, meaning this could go on for at least another fifty minutes.” Gon is speechless. “Stop gawking. You have twenty minutes until your match starts. I can clear the forest in less than one minute, but the city is a different beast.”

“I didn’t manage to land a hit, so why?” Killua gives a terse look before saying anything.

“A combination of what you said and did. You really were going to throw away everything for me. You backed up your words with your actions. That is a start, I think.” Gon considers his next words with due care.

“Was this just a test?” Killua seems to consider his options before nodding in response to Gon's question. “Does this mean--”

“Not yet. I just need some more time. We both need more time. I am willing to try.” The complete truth, for once. “Quit asking questions and hop on my back, idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the big gap. I had to get settled into college before I even considered picking this back up. I haven't found my niche quite yet, so updates will be few in number. I haven't even drafted the 10th chapter. :(
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this!


	10. A Matter of Time

The sickly sweet scent of syrup permeates the air. Stacks of pancakes, prim in posture, stand on ceramic plates. Zushi’s chef wears a look of disapproval as the raven-haired teen dismantles his creation with animalistic fervor. Gon pays no mind.

Killua savors the moment. This breakfast will need to sate him for the coming months.

***

A businessman says farewell to his family over the phone before dialing his mistress and providing the address of his hotel and his room number. Security coincidently chooses a citizen of the Republic of East Gorteau for a screening. Two children, presumably an older brother and younger sister, bid a tearful goodbye to their mother. A microcosm of vice and woe.

The airport is abuzz. Killua would have traveled to the next city, avoiding the hustle and bustle of enthusiastic tourists and social elite rushing to and fro, but the distance is too great to cover with only five Double As. Given the restriction of the ability, Killua requires four more days to conjure the appropriate number of batteries. Under current conditions, this alternative is favorable.

Killua recalls tha events that lead up to this moment. The drive to the airport had been bumpy, cramped, and awkward. Killua sat next to Gon, but words were not exchanged. Killua sensed the discomfort in the aura of the young Floor Master. Occasionally, a pothole would result in the luggage toppling onto Gon. Killua would assist in lifting the load, the pair would nod with lips hinting at a smile, and both would return to the status quo. No longer austere, yet not quite unreserved.

Gon won his match. He pleaded desperately with Killua to attend. Killua said he will should Gon promise to sufficiently guard. _Anything for Killua!_ Killua could not help his affliction, that rosy color splayed upon his cheeks. He was in no way stunned, only embarrassed at the shameless enthusiasm. Gon has demonstrated temperance, but he is still capable of barreling ahead with unnatural ardor.

Killua had forgotten the reaction his name affords. Customs stumbled backwards before breaking into a sprint. An escort, complete with a baggage cart, ferried the three young men through the sea of people present in Padokea International Airport. To protect those surrounding the Zoldyck, no doubt. This drive was as bumpy as the preceding one, though notably shorter.

And now Killua waits. Delays are a plague. As a consolation, the seats in the concourse are rather comfy. The waiting is nothing new. Killua recalls hours spent biding time while on the job. Oftentimes, he would let his targets come to him. The irony of an important political figure or preeminent person of business suffering an undignified end in a public restroom was not lost upon him. The thought sickens him now; the brutal efficiency and disregard for the value of human life characteristic of his ilk. His gaze nonchalantly shifts to the raven-haired teen taking up residence to his right. Gon beams, the sun reflected in those amber eyes, completely obsessed with the airships landing and taking off. A mundane aspect of life, akin to a barge crossing a river. Somehow, this is a spectacle for Gon; a marvel of engineering that he is content with gawking at. Factor Nen, raw talent, and physical strength, and one fact is resoundingly clear to Killua: the ability to find the intrinsic value of anything is Gon’s greatest gift. A voice muffled by the poor quality of aged speakers rouses Killua from his musings.

“We will begin boarding in five minutes. Thank you for your patience!”

Five minutes. Killua is not prepared in the slightest. Gon directs his attention to Killua. Zushi takes the hint, brandishing a convoluted lie about how he is famished and in need of nourishment. All alone, save the several dozen others waiting to board.

“So, I guess this is it, huh?” As delicate as Gon is capable of. Killua does not mind.

“It seems like it.” A standard response. Killua coughs, filling the silence that follows before reviewing the mental list he prepared. “You have my new number, right?” Killua prefers to avoid another hunt.

“Yup, Killua’s number is right here!” Gon digs deep into his pocket before flashing the screen of the battered beetle-shaped cellular device. _✩Killua✩_. Killua does his best to ignore the creative liberties Gon has taken with his contact information.

“Good. Feel free to text or call when you wish. We can arrange a meeting when you are done here.” The words fall off his tongue as the realization hits Killua. Ideally, Killua will see Gon in a month. Realistically, he estimates a three-month separation.

“I can’t wait to see Killua and Alluka! We’ll have a ton of fun!” If Gon noticed Killua’s disappointment, he did well to avoid drawing attention to it.

“Right.”

“Uh-huh!”

"Yeah."

“Killua?”

“Wha--?” Warmth. Enveloping. Contact with another. Entirely different from when he held Gon against the tree, different from the sprint to Heaven’s Arena. For the first time in three years, Killua let his defenses slack. He embraces Gon.

“I’m gonna miss you, Killua.” Gon closes his eyes for a bit longer than a standard blink. He tries to hide the sniffles by breathing in slowly. Killua notices.

“Me too.”

They stand there, caring not for the wandering eyes of their fellow travelers. Gon’s shudders are nearly imperceptible. Nearly. The lady at the desk interrupts their embrace as she begins to orchestrate the boarding process. Out of necessity, the pair breaks apart.

Killua gathers his bags and takes his place in line. Gon gives a wide, toothy grin with eyes tinged red. Killua waves back. Not to be outdone, Gon waves both arms wildly. With a smirk dancing upon his lips, Killua enters the aerobridge.

***

Gon looks on intently as the airship rises from the tarmac. The balloon eclipses the sun, bright flares of light bending around and obscuring his view. When he enhances his sight with Gyo, Gon swears he can see Killua peering out, eyes meeting his own. The thought is soothing.

“You plan on meeting up in the future.” Zushi. His tone is not interrogative, but declarative. He appears behind Gon, eyes cast on the object of their mutual interest.

“You were listening.”

“I left a Dupe behind.” A loud thud is heard and Gon tilts his head for a better view. There a Dupe stands with an amusingly blank expression. “Curiosity got the better of me. I figured you would not mind.” Gon does not mind. Zushi takes the lack of response as permission to continue. “You can finish your training in one month, though I would recommend at least two months.”

Gon allows a deep, hearty laugh from the diaphragm. “Zushi, I’ve waited three years. If I’m gonna do this, I’m gonna do it right.”

“Three months then?”

“Yup!” The two turn around in tandem, walking off with the foreknowledge that they will return.

It is only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this technically concludes this arc of the series. The next chapter will be an epilogue that hints at my next story. I'm so excited that this is almost completely finished! Please, if you can, leave a critique of this story. I welcome any and all opinions. It might be a little early to make predictions, but the next arc will likely be around triple the size of this story. Therefore, your opinions can influence the next story for the better.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	11. Epilogue: At the World Tree, Just You and Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an extended ending in the notes. It is an incredibly tiny teaser for what I have planned for the future. I put it in the notes because it doesn't mesh with my vision of how this should end.

Killua quietly opens the window, careful to avoid waking Alluka and Palm with the sounds of old, warped woodwork. He lets his eyes adjust to the morning glow before peering out. Novelty shops and tourist traps line the cobbled streets of this picturesque little town in the middle of nowhere. Standing above all else is the behemoth World Tree.

The white-haired teen moves past the occupied bed to the empty couch. In the center is an indentation; a shallow recess where a magenta shirt rests. He expertly unfurls the ball of cloth before sliding it over his torso. Ruffling through his belongings, he pulls out a pair of black jeans. Once fully clothed, Killua continues onward, the only hint of his presence the creaking of the floorboards.

 _Nine eggs, one and one-half teaspoons of salt, a liberal application of black pepper, three teaspoons of butter, and an assortment of grilled vegetables_. The chorus runs through his head, guiding Killua as he prepares three omelets. Crack, scoop, dice. Fry, sprinkle, grill. The mechanical nature of his work affords wandering eyes, and eventually Killua notices the time. Seven thirty-two. Sufficient time.

Killua nabs enough ingredients to make an omelet for himself.

***

“Killua!” Gon is no longer capable of containing his excitement. Killua stressed that he should arrive no sooner than half past eight. The turn of the minute threw a switch for Gon, causing him to spring back to life. Pacing the halls of this quaint little hotel has done little to quell the urge to break down the door and greet Killua, Alluka, and Palm.

Palm Siberia. Gon had been surprised to hear that she has accompanied the Zoldyck siblings all over the world. At first, Gon had been envious. After taking a step back, he was pleased that she kept Alluka and Something safe. Then, Gon realized that he misses Palm as well. Even her unusual quirks.

Gon readies his fist to pound on the door and holler for his friend. As if on cue, the door swings open as he extends his arm, and one groggy Palm Siberia greets him.

“Be quiet, damn it! There are others still sleeping on this floor.” Greets might not be the appropriate word.

“Oh, sorry!” Gon belts out his apology, earning a scowl from Palm. He compensates, loudly whispering, “Oops, my bad. I’m just excited.” Palm is on the verge of verbally rebuking Gon when a girlish squee is heard from within.

" _Gon_!" With her cry as his only warning, Gon stumbles backward after Alluka pounces on him. Or Something. Gon is not yet sure.

“Gon, I have missed you so much! I feel really bad, but he made breakfast for all three of us. Do you want to come in and eat with us?” He follows the barrage as best he can, though the lack of oxygen compounds his difficulty responding. Alluka takes note, jumping back while colored a deep shade of red. “I am so sorry! First the big idiot brother leaves and now I have nearly asphyxiated his friend!” Gon dusts himself off and corrects his posture before mulling over what Alluka had said. One aspect of her ramblings occupies his thoughts.

“Killua isn’t inside? Where is he?”

Alluka shifts uncomfortably before answering with, “I figured out that Something has a sort of deal with big brother, so she will not divulge any information. Killua appears to have thwarted Wink Blue by using a trick I developed, so Palm has no idea.” Alluka shoots Palm a sheepish grin and the older woman rolls her exposed eye.

“The two of you ask for my help only to make it impossible to do what I've been tasked.” Alluka is about to interject when Palm continues with, “As Alluka said before, Killua made breakfast before vanishing. I say we eat while the food is hot, yes?” With that, Palm ushers in one peeved Alluka Zoldyck and disappointed Gon Freecss.

Alluka and Palm busily set the table as Gon inspects the meal Killua prepared. Four plates, one littered with crumbling bits of egg and colorful vegetables, three with large and intact omelets. Along the edge of the plates are names written in a cursive script using chocolate liquor. _Gon_. He absentmindedly wonders how long Killua spent on the aesthetic. The cartoonish image of Killua painstakingly scribbling their names beside his culinary creations is comical. Gon is drawn away from these thoughts by Palm, the scaled woman visibly frustrated with his laggardly behavior. Gon expertly maneuvers while laden with the three plates, shuttling them to the table as Palm instructs.

Palm plops down beside Alluka before burying her head into her forearms, ignoring her plate entirely. Alluka, especially ornery, cuts a small piece of her omelet with the appropriate utensils before loading the food onto a spoon turned catapult and firing at the unsuspecting Hunter. Palm deftly intercepts the food with a napkin, retorting with a remark about how one should never think they are capable of surprising a clairvoyant.

Gon pokes at his meal, mostly ignoring the playful bickering of Alluka and Palm. He appreciates the consideration, specifically the labeling, but he would rather have Killua than folded eggs. However, the aroma eventually speaks to his stomach, and Gon finds himself going through the motions, chopping the omelet into halves, then quarters, and so on. That is, until his knife is lodged into what should be the soft core of the omelet. Curious, Gon peels back the sheet of eggs, sorts through the vegetables, and finds a styrofoam cube. The chattering subsides; Alluka and Palm hone in on Gon’s discovery. Their insistent eyes impel him. Softly, delicately, tenderly, Gon removes the lid and unrolls a piece of paper hidden within. Barring utterance, Gon rises from his seat in a fanfare as he exits with haste.

Alluka and Palm are left stricken by the abruptness of his departure, though the state proves transitory as they regain their wits moments later. Rounding the corner of the table, Alluka scoops up the note hidden in Gon’s breakfast, reading and recognizing the scrawl of her beloved older brother.

 _Gon_ ,

 _I am waiting at the World Tree_. _Meet me there so we can talk_. _In case you are wondering_ , _you are not in any sort of trouble_.

- _Killua_

Beneath the calligraphic text is a sloppily written note, very clearly an afterthought.

 _P_. _S_. _Record your time_. _I want to see if you can still keep up with me_.

Following the gibe is a cheeky sketch of her brother with feline features. Alluka folds up the letter and smiles fondly to herself. Palm, agitated with the waiting yet too tired to move, inquires, “What does it say?”

Alluka does not immediately respond, instead choosing to pick up Gon’s plate and dump the half-eaten omelet in the trash. She then meticulously rinses off the styrofoam cube, wetting only the outside. She secures the note before addressing Palm’s question with, “Big brother and Gon will be out for a while, doing what they normally do.”

A similar expression graces Palm’s face, and the two return to their morning meal, content with waiting for the pair to return.

***

The wind whips against his face as he runs toward the colossal World Tree. Tourists crowd underneath the looming shadow cast by this wonder of the world. If only they knew the truth, that the World Tree is nothing more than a sapling, of the uncharted world beyond the sea, of the world Gon has missed so dearly. A group of ecology students stand with arms spread wide around the trunk as their professor snaps a photo. Gon politely circumvents the group, taking care to avoid spoiling their moment.

Gon remembers his first time standing at the base of the World Tree. He remembers ascending the wooden catwalk, passing by other adventurous souls seeking passage to the top of the World Tree. A mere one percent successfully complete the climb. How many conquer the World Tree twice? Fortunately, Gon is feeling particularly auspicious regarding his chances.

Name. Date of birth. Next of kin. The man at the checkpoint is thorough. Gon is regretting not bringing his license. He has his medical records from Heaven’s Arena, but the Hunter Association has superior perks. He will need to visit Whale Island to pick that up.

Once the man at the checkpoint is satisfied, he allows Gon through. Taking out his phone, Gon flicks through the various applications preloaded onto the device. Selecting the stopwatch, Gon crouches into the starting position, his thumb hovering over the button. Body tensed and mind alert, Gon pushes off with all his might, propelling himself forward with the speed of a Kiriko.

Gon latches firmly onto the tree, hands and feet finding grooves in the bark. Gon conserves momentum by swinging from branch to branch. Occassionaly, he will glimpse down at the tiny glowing screen of the beetle phone. As time passes by, he resorts to using the mountain range surrounding the village as a reference for altitude. The summits slowly disappear into indiscernible white specks. Gon figures he is nearing the end. Carried on the breeze are sounds of the unknown bird species that call the World Tree home. Gon wonders if Killua is tolerating the birds at the very top. Probably not.

Gon shinnies up the trunk, the bend pronounced enough to allow him to securely hook his arms and legs around. Not much longer now. His pace quickens and so does his heartbeat. There. A branch. Gon leaps upward, latching onto the end of the branch. The branch bends but does not break, instead lashing back and sending Gon off with a burst of momentum. He digs his digits into the patchy weave of twigs and leaves held together with mud. The song of the birds now overpowers the wind. Killua is close. Only a few moments away. Gon heaves himself over the edge of the nest.

“Took you long enough. I was beginning to wonder if you would ever show up.”

***

“ _Killua_.” The way Gon said his name sent shivers down his spine. The raven-haired teen sounded reverent.

“I would hope I have not changed so much in these past three months that you would fail to recognize me.” A snarky response is safe and likely to elicit a response from Gon that Killua is comfortable with. Certainly not the hushed whisper of his name.

“Hey, I got up here in nine minutes and twenty-two seconds!” That is a relief. Gon is easy to read.

“That is a respectable time,” Killua pauses, a sly expression betraying what he is about to say, “but just shy of nine minutes and five seconds. Sorry, Gon, you lose.”

With that the two begin their usual back and forth. Killua explains where he has been the past few months. Gon listens intently as Killua recounts the visit to the country Palm hails from, a large expanse in the northern reaches of Sahelta. Alluka loves the little hamlet in the alps. He does his best to avoid doting, but her reaction to snow was too adorable to forego mention. Killua attended the latest Yorknew auction, acquiring a very expensive amethyst necklace for Alluka and a sundress made of Kakin silk for Palm. Killua even took a risky personal journey to Kukuroo Mountain to pay his respects to the late Gotoh.

Killua consciously stops his rambling, allowing Gon his turn. True to form, Gon prefers actions to words. _First comes rock_... followed by an immense release of aura that threatens the structural integrity of the nest. The birds take a moment to settle down after that display, to the chagrin of Killua.

“We have been pretty busy these past few months. It sure is nice to take a breather every once in awhile.” Killua leans back, propped up on locked elbows.

“Yeah.” Gon is not as relaxed, Killua notes. Gon is not the type to avoid speaking his mind. Truthfully, Gon probably needs a filter more than anything.

“Is there something you have on your mind, Gon?” He does not reply right away. Instead, Gon shifts on his bottom, as if trying to conjure his troubles and physically beat them into submission. Gon eventually stops fidgeting. Gon begins to speak.

“Killua needed to talk about something. Was this it, or is there something more that we wanna talk about?” Broaching the heart of the matter. Killua is thankful for his friend’s innocence and instinct. These sort of talks are easier as a result.

“Well,” Killua offers timidly, “remember how I mentioned the visit to that Saheltan village? There is a school, it snows fairly often, and Palm has a family lodge with living arrangements fit for two--” his voice trails off. Gon is transfixed, and his mouth opens and closes with inaudible sounds struggling to form words. Then, something clicks behind those honeyed eyes.

“Killua, do you mean--?”

“Y-yeah, if you want to.”

“Of course I wanna! But only if you really want to.”

“I offered, so obviously I want to.”

“Like, if Killua really _really_ wants to.”

“Are you trying to have me say no?”

“ _Killua_ ,” the classic whine, “I’m just trying to make sure this is what we wanna do! I mean, Killua said that Alluka is number one, and I don’t wanna take Ki--”

“Gon, stop.” Gon obliges. “What I said back then was stupid. There is no number one or number two. It is a flawed concept. I just need people. Friends, family.” That sounds strange to Killua, so he corrects his statement with, “Okay, maybe not family, but loved ones. Not in any order. That is kind of hard for me. I feel as though I am capable of only protecting one of you at a time, ergo the numbers.”

Gon interrupts, “Killua, I don’t need protecting. I’m strong. Alluka is strong in her own way. She has the ability to become physically strong if she learns Nen. It’s possible.”

“I am not comfortable with the possibilities, Gon. My personal preference is to subvert the probable and contribute to actualizing the desired.” Gon appears to let that sink in. Killua hears the cogs turning.

“Isn’t that living for other people? Why aren’t you your own number one?”

That is an excellent question, though they both know the truth. Killua is more interested in the implications than verbally establishing his inclinations. Living for others is not a flawed lifestyle. The happiness derived from positively influencing another person’s life is nothing to be ashamed of. Unfortunately, Killua lives for others to escape his own problems, and there is nothing healthy with that mode of living. Helping others is simply his place to hide.

He has waited too long to respond. Gon does not seem to mind. Killua knows Gon does not mind. Still, a response is courteous.

“Yeah, you are right. I guess I should be my own number one. I might need some help remembering to really do so, though.”

Gon’s eyes light up in their characteristic fashion, and what he says next echoes that twelve-year-old boy clad in green. “I can help Killua! Just pick a place to go and I’ll follow and help!”

Gon will follow. An unforeseen role reversal. The proposition is very enticing.

“Well, I am not completely sure. I have a place in mind. The position is demanding. If you had trouble climbing the World Tree--”

“ _No_ , please, Killua?” Gon stresses the first word, face pleading with Killua. As if Killua ever had another option.

“Hm,” a pause for effect. Killua is getting a kick out of his crass abuse of his position. However, he relents after pretending to mull over Gon’s begging, offering, “After careful consideration, including a mental review of your résumé and references, I have determined that you are the candidate best suited to tag along on my adventures. You need only fulfill one more task before you will be inducted into my entourage.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Give me your hand.” Gon complies without question, extending his right arm and keeping his palm parallel with the ground. Killua wraps his pinky finger around Gon’s. The older of the pair is only slightly perplexed before recognizing the familiar hold. Killua questions, “Gon, do you remember the words?”

“Yeah.”

“I can just start then?” Gon nods in response. “Okay, well, here it goes. Do you promise to be a supportive and loyal friend?” A nod. “Do you promise to practice patience and meditate on your actions?” Another nod. “Do you want to make this friendship better than before?” One final, vigorous nod. “All right, we will say it on my mark: three, two, one…”

 _Pinky swear made_.

 _Whoever breaks their promise has to swallow a thousand needles_.

 _Sealed with a kiss_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extended Ending:
> 
> Gon retracts his finger first, but his eyes remain locked on Killua's. That is, until he realizes he has been staring. Embarrassed, the older of the two distractedly itches the back of his neck, adopting a hybridized expression of elation and bashfulness. Killua speaks to alleviate the shared discomfort.
> 
> "That settles that. We only need to make a few arrangements and we can be off within the week." Gon perks up before slouching down once more. A mixed reaction. Killua crosses his arms and shoots Gon a quizzical look. It takes a moment, but the significance eventually registers for Gon, prompting him to make his inquiry.
> 
> "Hey, Killua, what place do you have in mind?" A simple question, though Killua will refrain from providing full disclosure in this particular instance.
> 
> "I received a call from Leorio. Apparently, the Association has been busy while we were off the grid. A lot has happened, so I want to pay the old man a visit." The worry is hidden behind the façade of well-intentioned curiosity. Killua purposefully failed to mention the strain in the doctor's voice, nor the information he has gleaned from the Hunter website. One step at a time.


End file.
